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I leave the tray and the old man behind. When I close the door behind me, locking it, I’m thinking that when Pace and Lex come for him in eight hours, all they’ll find is a corpse. I’m so caught up in the notion that a shifting shadow across the hall startles me.

But as soon as my gaze jerks up, I catch the color of fire, Verity’s wild hair framing a pale face. “You didn’t have to do that alone,” she says, stepping into the light. Her eyes are brimming with unshed tears. “How long will it take?”

Realizing that she heard the whole thing, I sigh, raking my fingers through my hair. “Three, four hours, maybe.”

For some reason that I don’t quite understand, she approaches me like I’m a spooked animal. She takes these tiny, slow steps, her eyes never leaving mine, until she’s so close that the apex of her belly grazes mine.

Gently, she lifts a hand, placing a palm against my cheek. “You are loved, you know.”

Her eyes are so unbearably penetrating that my stomach clenches. “Sometimes…” I start, needing to catch my breath. “Sometimes it really fucks me up to know that everything I’ve come to love was given to me by Father.” I glance down at her belly, thinking even that hasn’t been untainted by his influence. But when I push my hand out, grazing against the heat of her stomach, I don’t feel the bitterness. “I used to wonder if it was even real, like maybe I’m just making the best of it, or maybe I’m so broken that I cling to the smallest crumb of warmth, claiming it like a parasite.”

Immediately, she insists, “That’s not true.”

“It was with Danner,” I argue, reaching up to take her face in my hands. I hold her there as I look into her eyes. “But it’s not with you.”

“I love you too,” she says, repeating what I didn’t exactly say, but she understood anyway. “And so will he.”

I’ve tortured the truth out of men before. Their deepest, darkest secrets. But Verity’s confession isn’t something forced. It’s what I’d hoped for, it’s somethingreal, tangible. I kiss her mouth and take her hand, leading her away from what I accept as my past, instead guiding her back upstairs to our future.

16

Verity

“This ceremony will be different,”Pace says, not for the first time. He’s huddled close, a finger hooked beneath my chin so I’ll look him in the eye when he assures, “No one in there will hurt you. Don’t forget,” he adds, gently fingering one of the curls framing my face, “to create is to reign.”

I stand in front of the same doors I entered the night of the masquerade when I was whisked from the ballroom into the ceremonial chamber. That night, I had no idea what I was getting into, only that there was an adventure ahead. I had no clue what was to come, but tonight is simple. It’s planned.

Even so…

I feel Lex’s hand on my lower back before I hear his words. “You're nervous.”

“A little.” I run my hands down the flowy gauze, thinking this might be the first ceremonial dress I’ve worn and liked. It’s new, gifted to me by Rory Livingston’s family, and comfortable.Socomfortable, like wearing one of my nightdresses. It looks like something from an old Greek statue, the back of it slung aroundeach shoulder and gathered below my breasts to make an empire waist. However, I do wonder, “Why do I always have to wear white to these?”

“Tradition,” Lex says simply, his hand moving slowly up my spine, underneath my hair to the column of my neck. “And I like it, you look stunning.”

“You look like a fucking goddess,” Pace agrees, fingering the fabric covering my breasts. One tug would easily free them. “Jesus Christ, Rosi.”

“Thank you.” A warm blush heats every inch of my skin. “You two look pretty good, too.”

Clad in dark suits, they’re the embodiment of sex, distinction, and masculine power. Somewhere, underneath this massive belly, my panties feel damp.

“We can do this privately if you want,” Lex says.

But I shake my head. This is the only ceremony I’ve ever felt good about—like it’ll bring something positive to East End. “No, something formal seems right. I just…” I rest my hand on my stomach, the new Princess ring gleaming in the sconce light. I’m fully aware that as a shield, skin and bone will do nothing. “It’s just that this room and I have a lot of history, and none of it’s good.”

There’s an energy to this room I’ve been avoiding, and mine is only part of it. It needs a cleansing, and not the Royal kind. Something… spiritual. It’s as if decades of thronings, cleansings, and de-crownings have left a lingering scum of negative vibes that permeate the plaster walls and marble floors. It’s like it’s embedded in the chandeliers and gold accents. Sometimes, I think we should do like Lavinia did and just blow the whole fucking place to smithereens.

But no.

I’m not lettinghimrun my Princes out of their home—the home he forced on them. It’s a pillar of Forsyth and it belongs tothem, and since we’re set on making this place into a home, we’ll do what East Enders do.

We’ll have a rebirth.

Announcing my son’s name, his claim as heir, and gaining the approval of the frat is how we’ll do it.

“Hopefully, this will be the end of it,” Lex says, the way he tugs at the collar of his dress shirt telling me he feels it, too. “I think we’ve done the groundwork with the guys to gain their full support.”

It’s not all weekly luncheons, either. I had Story pull some strings with Dimitri Rathbone to get Baxter into the music program. Lex has been checking in with Loeffler’s grandfather at the hospital every Wednesday night. Pace has been tutoring a couple of the CS guys, and Wicker donated Rufus’ car to be auctioned off to benefit a charity run by Mitch’s mother.